


Little bird

by hazelandglasz



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Transformation, Friendship/Love, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:18:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this beautiful piece of art :<br/>http://nauseto.tumblr.com/post/70824058739</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little bird

Dalton is everything David and Wesley promised it would be.

It is safe, it is hate-free - at least in appearances - and Kurt is finally challenged when he’s in class.

And yet.

And yet he feels more alone than he ever did while at McKinley, even when he met the lockers more frequently than his friends.

Don’t get him wrong, the Warblers are fine acquaintances, but it’s all they are.

They are comrades, they are not friends, as welcoming as they are.

Kurt sighs, slipping a finger between the cage’s bar to stroke what is his only friend at the Academy.

Pavarotti leans his little yellow head against his fingertip, letting a soft trill out to show its contentment.

Kurt starts humming, following the bird’s melody, and soon enough, as the two usually do, they’re singing in harmony.

"You’re a good friend," he whispers to the little bird, which cocks its head to look at him with its unusual amber eyes (he looked it up : canaries are not supposed to have amber eyes with green flecks). It feels like it understands everything Kurt says, that he empathizes with him.

"Lights out !" the prefect calls and Kurt scrambles to get changed before the curfew.

He doesn’t notice how the canary ostensibly turns its head to look away, raising a wing to give him some privacy.

————

Time did fly.

No pun intended to his new appendages, but when you’re stuck in a bird’s body for nearly 50 years, you start losing count of time.

The fact that none of the boys who took care of him in that time span wondered if maybe, just maybe, canaries are not supposed to live for 50 years is worrying for the education the Academy is supposed to provide, but Blaine tries to find a silver lining.

He is fed, he is not hunted, he can sing to his little heart’s content and he doesn’t have to fight for his life - when he had asked that enchantress for a sure way to be protected from the world’s hate, he didn’t expect that outcome.

But, hey - silver lining.

And then Kurt arrived.

And Blaine wants to be human again, if only to wrap his arms around the other boy’s frame, to protect him.

Back when he was human, he couldn’t protect himself, he was … he was a coward.

But for Kurt, he knows he could be brave and make him feel safe from whatever chased him from his previous school. And somehow, given the gentleness Kurt uses to take care of him, he knows that Kurt would keep him safe in return.

Alas, the spell surely cannot be broken just because he wants it to be, can it ?

—-

The day has been long, and Kurt is tired.

Pavarotti hops closer to him on the cage’s bar, and Kurt smiles sadly at him.

With a deep, heavy sigh, he starts singing, not really caring about the song that popped in his head.

"The power lines went out

And I’m all alone …”

Pavarotti hums and trills with him, their voices perfectly complementing each other when Kurt stops singing.

Because the bird is glowing.

Not looking particularly healthy or happy, no. Glowing. Like a motherfucking light bulb.

What the …

*Boom !!*

Kurt jumps on his seat, looking bewildered at the cage where only feathers are where the bird stood, a heavy cloud of smoke emerging from the table.

"Pav ?"

Kurt scoots closer, but lets out a blood curling shriek when a boy stands up, clearing the smoke with his hand.

The boy is handsome, a regular dreamboat - he looks like he came from the set of “Sabrina”, if Kurt is being totally honest - but what the fucking fuck just happened ?!

"Kurt," he whispers, his voice soft and awed, before he leans forward to cup Kurt’s face and presses his lips to Kurt’s.

Kurt doesn’t really have the time to do or say anything, but somehow, this doesn’t feel like what happened with Karofsky - his touch is soft, caring, and when their lips touch, it feels like a missing piece slides into Kurt’s puzzle to complete it.

And then his brain is operational again.

"What - who - how …?" Kurt asks, or more accurately, blabbers, pushing the boy away.

"Let me explain", he says, smoothing down his grey sweater vest. "I’m Blaine Anderson and -"

"Wait - Blaine Anderson ? As in, the lead Warblers in 1953 ?" Kurt cuts him, an eyebrow reaching for his hairline. "As in, the boy who went missing without a trace around Christmas time that year ? That Blaine Anderson ?"

Blaine nods and Kurt looks at him in disbelief. “You expect me to believe that my bird, my pet, was actually a boy from the 1950s ?”

"I did just change back in front of your eyes, Kurt," Blaine says, a crooked smile stretching his lips - and really, it’s unfair how it makes him look even better.

"And your first act once you’re back to being human is to … kiss me ?" Kurt asks, the disbelief still in his eyes but it’s obvious that now, it’s about his ability to raise those emotions in Blaine.

Blaine smiles at him softly and sits down next to him, his hand hovering over Kurt’s before covering it completely. “I think the fairytales were right : Love is the only thing powerful enough to break any curse.”

"Love ?!" Kurt exclaims and Blaine nods fervently. "You - love me."

"Obviously," Blaine replies, his thumb stroking over Kurt’s knuckles.

"B-b-but," Kurt suddenly realizes and his face turns bright red, "I changed in front of you oh my God !"

Blaine is blushing too, but he keeps his composure. “I assure you, I never invaded your privacy. I always looked away,” he adds, looking down and that’s the final gesture that convinces Kurt that he’s not dreaming.

Because Pavarotti would always look down and sideways, using a wing to coyly cover half of its face, whenever Kurt would compliment him on the brightness of its feathers, or the beauty of a song.

"You really are Pavarotti," he whispers, reaching for Blaine’s chin to make him look back at him. "And you really love me."

Blaine nods, a blush on his cheeks and sparkles in his amber eyes.

Oh.

The amber, green flecks, eyes.

This time, it’s Kurt who presses his lips to Blaine’s.

Love really conquers all.


End file.
